Pet
by Manic-Mania
Summary: Francouer over hears Lucille and Raoul in the midst of an argument, he's called a monster, and nothing more than a pet to Lucille. When she can't retaliate. it upsets him and he sets off to become more than just a "Pet". After a painful transformation, he returns home. How will they react? Reviews appreciated! T just in case. I OWN NOTHING
1. Prologue

"How could you do this, Lucille!?" Raoul states. Throwing his hands up in defeat. After such a long argument, it would make no sense for him to be calm. "What about everything we tried to build? What about us? What about…" he sighs, and takes her hands in his "What about our love?"

"This isn't about you, Raoul. This is about Francoeur. We need to get him some place safe, you know that. He was alright in Paris for a while. But it's been weeks. Fleas don't last very long, Raoul. Who knows how long Francoeur will live from here?" She fumbles over the desk, picking up various make-up containers and things. "I've got to talk to the Professor. Maybe he can do something."

"Of course, it's always been about… about that flea!" Francoeur flinched back at the word. Raoul spat it at him, pointing maliciously. "Don't think I can't see how he looks at you… The thing is a flea, a monster, for gods sake." He turns to look at Lucille. She charges at him and draws a hand back to slap him. He catches the hand and stares into her eyes, his mind isn't calm. "Don't you say he's no monster." He says, her eyes go wide. "He may be no monster to you, but he's not a human, either. He's your pet."

Lucille's eyes go wide, and she turns her back to him, taking her hand from his grip. Her eyes are downcast. Fracoeur's eyes widen in horror. He can tell what's going on. He just… he doesn't have the words for it. He doesn't know how to say "It's not true! It's not true! Tell him, Lucille, tell him it's not true!" Instead all that he can express comes out in horrified, frantically mournful chirps. Eventually raising into wild shrieks. The look on his face is pure pain.

"Francoeur…" Raoul says, Lucille doesn't turn. She couldn't see him like this. He stares at her back for a long second before catapulting himself out the window. He couldn't bare to be in that room any more. He couldn't bare to be a pet.

"Hello, Francoeur." The professor says, as the big blue flea opens the door, and quietly steps into the greenhouse. "You look upset. What's the matter?" The old mans face is aged, and wrinkled. Franc shakes his head and lunges into a tree nearby. He doesn't want to discuss it. "You know, it's been several weeks… Perhaps you've come back wondering if there's some way you could live longer?" The professor pulls up a chalk-board from under his desk and displays if for the musician to look over whenever he decides to. It was pretty simple, really. There was a drawing of Franc, or at least a really big flea like him, and a man. A very average looking one, Franc imagines it's just to get the image across. He sits there, with the board in his hands for a long while. All four of his hands are gripping it tightly. He chirps a slow, sad chirp.

"I can make this happen, you know." the professor says, walking up behind the flea after he examines the board a while. "I heard about the argument Raoul and Lucille had… That's a terrible thing to say." He puts a hand over Franc's shoulder, his spines are drooping, his head low. He hands the board to the Professor. Eyes gleaming with hope. "It will be no easy task." He says, mixing various chemicals and liquids, each glowing in a respective color like some sort of magic. But magic doesn't exist in chemicals. Magic exists in music. That's what Francoeur believed, any how.

"There" the Professor says, finally holding up a vial to Franc's face. It was an odd liquid. Completely clear, but from the way it moved, you could tell it would ooze, not run. It was thick and clear. "Open up, Franc." The flea opens his mouth widely. Eyes closed, expecting something to happen… "Ah, no. That's not what I need. I need you to keep your eyes open." He says, pulling a syringe from his coat and popping open the vial. He's scared. He breathes quickly, his eyes darting anywhere but the needle, as it approaches his left eye slowly. "I'm going to have to put it in each of your eyes, nostrils, give you some to drink, and put some in each ear, and major vein. I'll do it as painlessly as I can…" The professor explains as the needle eases its way into Franc's eye. He squeals and screeches wildly as it punctures his left cornea…


	2. Chapter 1

Francoeur was laying on the ground with his arms folded over his chest, when he awoke. His whole body was sore. His eyes were hot and dry. My mouth felt large and awkward. "Ah...? Ah...?!" he tried, the voice came out smooth and singular.. "Aaaaahhhhhhhhh...?" He repeated. Opening his mouth wide...

"You've awoken! Come, come. I have much to teach you and little time to do so. First we will practice basic language, as your words don't seem to travel through much beyond music and chirps." Franc stared at the professor for a moment. "...which you can't do any more." The born-again-flea drooped. He loved chirping. It seemed like such an effective way yo get things across... "Okay, to begin we will practice the alphabet..."

"Hello, my name is Francoeur, you can call me franc, if you wish..." Francoeur says shyly. Fumbling his fingers together, and looking up from under his lashes.

"Marvelous! I'm astounded at how quickly you've learned this language! You are indeed a very smart flea." The professor says, tapping the man on his shoulder. He chirps happily. A trick he learned with his new mouth and vocal chords. He vastly preferred chirping over speaking. "... we'll have to try and break you of that chirp, though." Francoeur grins, knowing that wont happen.

"Thank you for all your help, professor..." He says, offering another timid half-smile. His wide eyes still held an otherworldly color to them. But the professor said it made him look fascinating, it was a defining trait. "Can I... Go home now?" It had been roughly three years. The Professor insisted nobody visit Franc during his studies, and thus Lucille and all his other friends seemed like pleasant dreams of the past... It made him sad to think about. He loved them all dearly, especially Lucille... She made him feel like nobody could. He loved everybody, in truth. He would give his life to a stranger, if it would help them. But Lucille... He would give his life a thousand times over. He would suffer a million hardships just to keep that sweet voice singing. Just to dance with her.

"Well, kiddo. First we need to get you some papers."

"Papers?"

"I.D, birth certificate, things like that. Just so you're not too suspicious."

"Okay..." He says, dismissively. "How soon can you...?"

"Already got 'em, my boy." the professor says sharply. He winks at Francoeur and ovvers up the papers. They look aged and some-what wrinkled.

Francoeur grabs the papers and flashes an excited grin. He could taste freedom on those papers. He could taste the air of France. The sights of it. He was excited.

"Alright, get outta here. Ya big bug."

Franoeur chuckles as he scampers out of the building, trying his hardest not to hop or jump. His legs were still very strong, and he was still quite springy. But not quite as springy as he was before, unfortunately. It made him a bit sad, but he liked the idea of being human. More than just a 'pet'. He smiled at the thought. _"Just wait until she see's me now..."_ he thought; _"I'll show Raoul that I'm not simply a _pet." He thinks over these things as he saunters down the road, to The Rare Bird. He sings "Un P'tit Baiser" as he struts. More than a few people turn their curious heads to examine the passing musician.


	3. Chapter 2

** Sorry for the wait, all who actually watch this story. I was caught up in a bit of business. But I think that's pretty much done, now. So, here you go! More Pet. Hope you enjoy. Reviews are appreciated. 3**

The pleasant ding of the bell called forth a "One second!". The voice was familiar, and sweet. Francoeur folds his hands together as he waits. Finally Lucille opens the door. "What ever it is, I'm not... Buying..." her eyes trail up the tall, bulky man. His slick black hair was neatly brushed back, and his jaws decorated with sideburns. His eyes were kind, and held a fire in them... He had a gap in his front teeth, which formed underneath a pair of thin, smiling lips. Large hands found their way to Lucille's waist, and lifted her into the air.  
"Lucille! Ah, I have missed you..." the voice is familiar. "Fra... Francoeur?" Lucille tries. He chirps. He actually chirps. Lucille's eyes become heavy, and sting. Tears boil over, and tumble down her cheeks. Her mouth agape. "You're back... You came home..." Her hands trembled at her sides, as she reached up to touch the face of the towering man. His eyes were gentle, and warm, and everything Francoeur was... But these eyes were no longer those of a child. He understood that Lucille was crying. He understood that she was touching him. He even knew what that warm feeling was in his stomach. He knew it. His hand found hers, and held it at his cheek. His eyes lulled closed, as he leaned into her soft, delicate touch.  
"I'm home, Lucille..."  
"Lucille, What are you doing? Who was that at the door...?" Another familiar voice echos from inside.  
"Raoul! Quick! Come outside! Looks who's here!" Her cheeks are still stained with tears, and she was still clinging tightly to Francoeur's hand, which now found its way to her face. Franc still had one of his hands on Lucille's waist. Raoul came outside. Eyed the situation. For a moment, rage passed through his eyes. He hid it quickly, though. It went over Francoeur's head, and surpassed Lucille as well. "Francoeur! Welcome back! Something looks different. Did you cut your hair?" he says jokingly. Francoeur laughs along with him. A laugh that sounds very human, and for a moment, a very brief, and yet a very solid moment, Lucille's chest aches.  
Lucille and Francoeur are sitting outside, singing together as they used to. Dancing together. Raoul was never good at singing, or dancing. He couldn't reach that part in Lucille's heart that meant the most to her. That place where she felt most free, and most alive. He didn't know her love for music like Francoeur did. He will never know it like Francoeur does. It is the essence of what they are. It's a string, tying them together in a way that is so profound that none could truly understand unless they understood the music. A language Raoul would never be able to speak.  
It's not as though Raoul doesn't enjoy the music. Everybody enjoys music. Everybody can be touched by music.  
But not all people can feel the music the way they do.  
But Raoul loves Lucille. He's always loved Lucille. There's no way he'll let the overgrown flea take his place, either. Lucille was his. Lucille was what he deserved. What he wanted. Lucille was exactly what Raoul could picture for himself. Why would he ever settle for less?

"Ah, mon Dieu. Francoeur! I haven't sang like that in ages!" Lucille says, twirling herself along the roof of L'Oiseau Rare. The sun was setting on the skyline, and Francoeur was sitting on the edge of the building. His feet dangling off the edge. "Yes... Your voice is magnificent. It has been so long since I've heard it..."  
"The same goes for me, Francoeur... It has been a long time since I was really able to sing like that."  
"...Why... Why do you think that is...?" Francoeur says. His fingers fumbling against each other. He waits, as Lucilles eyes drift to a place far, far away.  
"... Raoul and I... we... we are engaged, Francoeur..." He stares a moment, and chirps quietly... "It means that I love him... He is... Mon Amour... My love. My heart... I will be spending my life with him, Francoeur."  
"...Is this what you want?" Franc says, after a long moment. "Do you want to spend your whole life with Raoul, Lucille?"  
"... Yes. I am certain... I've always loved him. Since we were children..."  
"I see... Does... Does my being here make things... difficult..?"  
"No! No, Francoeur... Please, stay. We need you at the Cabaret, and... we're partners. We are partners, aren't we?"  
Francoeur looks down a moment, at his hands. He no longer needed gloves to keep them hidden. He could show his hands whenever he chose... He stands and approaches Lucille, and reaches a hand to her hair, which cascades in copper curls around her shoulders. He caresses a soft strand in one of his exposed hands. He can feel every hair. He can feel how soft it is. He can see how shiny it is. I lefts it to his nose and inhales deeply. A sense he enjoyed most thoroughly was scent. He could smell what she used to clean her hair, the burn of a hot iron to curl her strands, the sweat off her brow from dancing earlier. He could smell all of it. Lucille wasn't moving. She simply watched as he did all these things. It felt like a ritual. She felt like she was being worshipped. She knew that his deeds were of nothing but pure intent. She was comfortable, and when he finally spoke, he let the strand fall to her shoulders with the other strands. "Of course, Mon Ange... I will stay by your side, always..." his eyes were heavy-lidded, and shielded from her gaze. "I'm tired. I need to sleep. Goodnight, Lucille..." and with that, he left her on the roof of the Cabaret. The night air was suddenly bitter, it nipped at her ankles...


	4. Chapter 3

Hello all. I'm sorry for neglecting the story for so long! I've been at a writers block, for a while. D: But, I appreciate the reviews I received, and story followers. I didn't expect this story to be received so well. Especially with all the errors with spelling and tense errors... But, nonetheless. Thank you, **so much**. 33333

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Ah, yes. By the way, **I own nothing**. D:

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In the bedroom given to our musician by the owner of the cabaret, lay a tall man, made anew, resting over his sheets, with his arms crossed over his chest. He traced the details of the intricate ceiling, and considered the softness of the white sheets, and simplicity of the table beside his bed, and played back various moments with his Lucille. He wanted to try many new things with her. now that he was human. Now that he could feel the brush of wind like she does, and the taste of things like she does, and the sound of music, and everything, everything she does, he can do it now... He wanted to do everything with her. Experience everything with his Lucille.  
He decided that he would do these things tomorrow, and awaken early, in the morning to do so. It took him a while to fall asleep, however. He was just so excited.

In the next room;

"Lucille..." a voice called from the depths just beyond Lucilles awareness. "Mon Ange..." She found herself in a huge garden. Blue flowers, and purple flowers grew, with splashes of white, and red, and orange. Francoeur held out a brightly colored Camellia flower, and put it into Lucilles hair. "You look lovely, Mon Ange." He coos softly into her hair as he pulls her into a tight embrace. "I would like to dance with you..."

"Oh, that's silly, Francoeur. You can always dance with me!" She laughs. Finding it odd that he would ask.

He pulls close to her, and begins to sway. True, this dance was very different from how they usually dance. Ordinarily they would dance together light heartedly, but this time was different. Francoeur was holding her closely, and humming a soft tune she'd never heard before. It melted into the air. Into her ears, and formed like wax. All was snuffed out, save for his song, and his arms around her, as they swayed through the midnight garden.

Before she realized what was happening, his hands grew smaller, and longer, his broad shoulders became thin, and his steps became awkward. His voice was replaced with Raoul's, who stumbled over the lyrics. She looked up at Raoul, who was trying his very best. She smiled at the effort that he was making. But somehow, the effect was not the same as Francoeur's soothing voice. From a distance, he heard his voice. Far, far away.  
"... Is this what you want, mon Ange...?" She realized a pain in the voice. A pain she hadn't realized previously. Her heart thumped painfully against her ribcage, and for a tiny, tiny moment, a voice so far away in her head gasped...

"...No..." But this voice was so small. So puny and distorted. She could barely hear it, and filed it off as a sound in the distance. An unimportant sound.  
"Lucille..." another small voice called. Growing louder, and crisper with each second. "Lucille... Lucille... Wake up, Mon Ange... It is morning." Lucille opens her eyes, to find that the midnight garden was simply a dream, and all she could remember was dancing, and a flower being put in her hair...

But why was thinking about this dream so painful..?

"Good morning, Lucille!" Francoeur called, from beside her bed. "Did you sleep well?" across the room, Raoul was standing with his arm crossed, a slight snarl on his lips. He had agreed to let Francoeur wake Lucille, he couldn't really protest. What would he say? 'No, you can't wake her. She would fall in love with you.' or 'No. I am insecure in my current relationship and would be jealous'? No, Raoul would never admit such things. Not even to himself. How on earth could he be jealous of Francoeur? Francoeur was a soft being, who would never steal Lucille from him. He wasn't the type, and wouldn't dare of putting Lucille into a place she wouldn't like. Obviously, she was happy with Raoul, and Raoul was happy with Lucille. He wanted to give Lucille the very best in everything, and how could he do that, if not do it himself? That was his line of thinking. He wanted to do everything, be everything for his Lucille. He loved her, though he may not always show it well. He was never really one with words, but a man of actions. Though he was a lazy, thoughtless person, he always came through when it counted. He tried to, at least, and every now and again, he would try to surprise her, with flowers, or some other wacky invention, or try to make her laugh, or impress her. That was the best he could do, and he hoped, prayed that it was enough. He wanted Lucille to be happy, more than anything.

He would do all he could, to keep her happy. But sometimes, he says the wrong thing. He knows that he does. He is not the perfect man. No, he was far from perfect. He wasn't brave, or strong, or musical. He couldn't sing, nor dance well. He was stubborn, and many times, he was arrogant. He could always find just the wrong thing to say. He could always find just the right way to upset people, without even meaning to... No. He was not the perfect man. He was far, far away, from the perfect person. Much less, the perfect man. But for some reason, Lucille loved him. For that, he was grateful. But nonetheless, he didn't want to lose her. Not to Francoeur, not to the post boy, not to the baker, not to the strange customer at the cabaret. Not to anyone.

"...I wanted to do something with you, Lucille." Francoeur chirped shyly as Lucille was brushing through her hair.

"Oh? What's that?" she smiled at him through the mirror.

"Uhm... Everything..." He mumbles, his face growing a little red. From the corner of the room, Raoul makes a very disgruntled noise, clearing his throat. "Well, I mean... Now that I'm... Like you... I wanted to know what it's like..." Francoeur hands Lucille a hat from her hat-rack. "... And you're the first person that accepted me... After... the whole Monster in Paris incident..."

"Ah, Francoeur, that's very sweet of you. I would love to! … But..." she glances over to Raoul, "Raoul and I were planning on going out today, and making some plans... for the wedding. We have three months to get this all set up..." she worries over her dress, wringing a part of it in her hand. "B-but... There's a park, nearby..."

"I see..." Francoeur hangs his head a bit. "Perhaps I will visit this park, then..." He gets up, and puts on a hat, as he walks out the door. Lucille looks over to Raoul, worried.

"Don't fret, Mon Aime" he comforts; "I'm sure he will be fine. Francoeur always had a way of springing right back up, when we least expect him to." he smiles reassuringly. She does her best to smile back.

"Yes. I suppose..." she mutters as she is escorted out the door by her fiance.


End file.
